


Splintered

by pherryt



Series: New Clint Barton Bingo [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Distractions, Feels, First Meetings, Hiding Places, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Memory Loss, Mindscapes, Pipe Organs, Rescues, Sort of? - Freeform, multiple POVs, post winter soldier, split personality, this started as crack and didn't stay that way, tower fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22642060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt
Summary: When Steve had come up with the insane plan he had for rescuing Bucky, Clint had totally backed him on it. He'd seen the footage, he'd seen the Soldiers eyes. Steve had a chance.What Clint hadn't expected was that he and Nat would need to go after Steve to rescuehiminstead, and he hadn't expected what they found, either.
Series: New Clint Barton Bingo [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540606
Comments: 21
Kudos: 32
Collections: Clint Barton Bingo





	Splintered

**Author's Note:**

> The reason this fic exists is because right around when i first got my new Clint Barton card, the kid and i were driving, listening to the Chrono Trigger soundtrack and she asks "Why do villains always have creepy Organ music?" And i said "Dramatic Effect"
> 
> Next thing i knew, we were planning something utterly ridiculous AND looking up all my bingo cards to see if anything resonated. this started as crack. but then i found a way to make it make SENSE. i still thought it could be funny but then it turned into MORE. There's still some remnants of the crack sprinkled through here and there, so i hope you all have a laugh
> 
> so this is for my new Clint Barton bingo card - square filled: Air Vent Clint Barton
> 
> thanks go to liraelclayr for taking a looksee - i was fairly worried about pulling it off coherently without giving away too much, too fast
> 
> P.s. - three POV's, all marked by line breaks

Lightning flashed and thunder roared as the Asset cracked his knuckles, flared his cloak out dramatically and sat on the bench before the grand brown and gold instrument.

Candles flared to life around him with a flicker of thought, his black gloved fingers came to rest along the ivory white keys and he paused, tilting his head down for a brief second, hair falling into view. No matter, he didn’t need to see what he was doing, his fingers knew the patterns well.

Lightning flashed again, and - as if it was a cue, the signal he’d been waiting for - his fingers moving with a flourish, his head snapped up. His fingers danced across the keys effortlessly, gracefully, beautifully loud, haunting music emanating out from the golden pipes rising above his head and disappearing into the darkness of the high vaulted room.

He played for a wordless verse, then through another, his ears straining to pick up the slightest sounds, a breath, a footfall –

It was how he’d caught the last intruder, who’d thought to sneak up on him while he was too preoccupied by music. But the Asset was skilled enough to divide his attention, waiting for the opportune time to end dramatically, spin about in a swirl of fabric and catch the intruder off guard.

Forget all that skulking about. Forget the subtlety. He’d sat down and made it real goddamn clear where he was in this giant, vaguely familiar mansion (a place that he had no memory of being brought to), and waited for the would be hero to come to  _ him. _

Where the giant mansion, the organ  _ or _ the cloak had come from, the Asset wasn’t entirely sure, but much like other things in his life, he didn’t question it. He was trained to fight and to kill. He was trained to follow orders.

Only, there  _ were  _ no orders currently, no targets.

Which was a problem, because the intruder wasn’t on the approved list, nor was he on the target list. So the Asset had captured him and caged him. Which was all well and good, problem solved - except now there was another one –

He cocked his head –

Make that two. There were  _ two  _ more in his sanctuary. Not counting the strange little hermit that skittered away from him whenever they found themselves occupying the same space.

The Hermit was familiar in an unsettling way, a way that made the Asset’s skin crawl, made the inside of his head  _ itch _ . Every time he thought to lift a hand against the Hermit residing in this otherwise empty mansion, the Hermit would disappear behind one of the many locked doors and -

And the Asset couldn’t seem to follow. A rare feeling of dread would glue his feet to the floor. The doors would slam in his face. Once - no, twice – he’d managed to close his hand around a knob, he’d managed to twist –

A door had cracked open –

And the Asset had frozen as foreign things, emotions, thoughts, had flooded him. these things were counterproductive to being the Asset, to following orders –

He would be punished -

The Hermit wasn’t worth chasing down. He did nothing to the Asset. He didn’t get in the Asset’s way, he didn’t seek out the Asset.

The others, however, needed to be dealt with. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he  _ knew. _

So, the Asset waited, fingers flying, a strange but welcome peace washing over him as the music poured out from his fingertips, from high above his head, but no one came. He frowned. No matter, he was patient. They always came. They were here for him, after all. His fingers stroked over the keys, soft, then hard, the pipe organ sending out it’s same, eerie –

_ Thhhppppptt _

The Asset froze. His fingers trailed back over the keys, testing. Each sound was clear, deep –

_ Thhpppptt _

Except that one. He tapped the key several times, each time coming back with the same dull, off kilter sound, his inner peace shattered.

He pulled his hands from the keys, dropping them into his lap and stared at the pipe organ that had betrayed him. How was he supposed to draw anyone to him if the organ was broken? He didn’t even think he knew how to fix the organ.

Then again, he had no recollection of ever learning to play, either, and yet his fingers held the skill he needed. Had his handlers programmed him for music or was it instinct?

The problem of the broken organ niggling at him, the Asset stood and searched for the access he’d never needed before now, the prisoner and his new intruders forgotten in his quest to bring back that cherished bit of peace, of  _ rightness _ .

* * *

“Nat,” Steve hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? Rescuing your ass,” Nat said cheekily, already approaching the door Steve was locked behind. His hands were gripping the bars of the little window uselessly, peering out between them.

“You can’t be here, Nat,” Steve pleaded. “We all knew this was a longshot, and if any of us had a chance of reaching him, it would be me. We have history –"

“So do we,” she reminded Steve. Steve repressed the shudder. After DC, when he was recovering in the hospital, they’d had more than one heart to heart. She’d confessed to knowing Bucky before, that she’d known him for more than that time in Odessa she’d initially told Steve about.

She told Steve about Yasha, about the training and even some about the Red Room itself. It was unavoidable. No way to talk about the other things without, at least, touching on that, much as it was something she’d wished never to talk of again, he could see that as plain as day and Steve had felt guilty for making her.

Nat had simply smiled and said it was her choice and they left it at that. Because choice, he had learned, was something she hadn’t had, then. 

But it had been painfully clear in their pursuit of him that Bucky hadn’t known her. And if this was going to work…

It had to be Steve. It was too risky to be anyone else. And he’d thought he had a chance. After all,  _ someone  _ had pulled Steve out of the water after the helicarriers had plummeted from the sky, when he’d fallen through the glass, Bucky’s face gazing down at him, dwindling into the distance, the last thing Steve had seen.

He’d been strangely calm, though the thought that it was only fair had crossed his mind. Because the irony hadn’t been lost on him – that he was seeing what Bucky must have seen that day in the Alps – and that if Steve had gone after Bucky, none of this would have happened.

And really, who else could it have been? Why else would he have done it if Bucky hadn’t remembered him on some level? Except, then Steve got here, he’d found Bucky and…

Things hadn’t gone well at all. There’d been not even one spark of recognition, nothing to leave Steve with any hope.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “But he didn’t even  _ recognize  _ me, Nat, and I’ve known him longer than you,” Steve said, barely getting the words out. “If I can’t reach him, what makes you think  _ you  _ can?”

“I’m not here for him, dumbass, I’m here for you,” Nat said.

“What?” Steve asked, blinking in surprise.

She rolled her eyes. “You think we’re gonna just  _ leave  _ you here for eternity? You’re the team leader. .  Might be kind of hard to do from in here.”

“Wait, we?” Steve blinked. “Nat, please tell me it’s just you. That’s bad enough, but if this goes wrong, we’ll all be stuck here. Nat?” Another figure, black and purple clad, dropped to the ground beside Nat.

“Hawkeye?” Steve groaned, smacking his head against the window bars, then tried to crane his head enough to see up, but the small, barred window in his prison door was impossible to work around and he gave up, looking back at the two of them.

“Hi, Steve!” Clint said cheerfully, as if he and Nat hadn’t just put themselves into one of the most dangerous situations ever. Clint waved at Steve, then turned back to Nat. “I’m keeping him busy. How long do you need?”

She gestured at the door and Clint turned to it, leaning in for a closer look. “Aaaaah… I see the problem.” Steve tried to angle downwards to see what Clint was seeing and growled when he was thwarted again. “Well, why don’t you just bust down the door, then?” Clint asked Steve as he straightened up.

Steve growled. “Don’t you think I haven’t tried? Door didn’t even budge. The hinges didn’t creak, the bars won’t bend… I feel like I did before the war. Weak.”

“It would make sense he has all the power here,” Tony’s voice echoed hollowly around the hall. Even though Steve  _ knew  _ he wasn’t there, he couldn’t help but look around his limited sight view. “Maybe if you can needle him enough, that control will slip and Steve can break out, or the door will unlock.”

Clint backed away from the door and grinned. “On it.”

He leapt up, feet dangling briefly in Steve’s view before disappearing into a ceiling Steve couldn’t see. Must have been a vent or something there.

“Wait! Clint, be careful,” Steve called after him. “I don’t think we’re the only ones in here.”

Clint’s head appeared, hanging upside down. Steve would wonder why none of the arrows fell out of his quiver in that position but, well, Clint probably had thought of that already and taken his own precautions. “What did you see?”

“It was too quick. A shadow. Almost missed it but then it… moved? But then Buck and I were fighting.”

“That’s very interesting,” Clint said, his face holding an intense curiosity and Steve groaned. Far from warning Hawkeye off, he was pretty sure he just pointed Hawkeye right at the unknown entity. It could be anything, it could be a trap, it could be – no, Steve refused.

“I beg to differ, Katniss. I’d say it’s very concerning,” Tony said. “Because if that’s true, then that means…”

“No,” Steve bit out. “I refuse to believe it. We can get out of here, and we can save him too.”

* * *

The Asset pulled the green ball with the white line curving around it in an endless loop out of the pipe. The organ hadn’t been busted at all, but where had the ball come from?

His head shot up as doors slammed through the mansion, each bang causing a shot of fear to trickle up his spine. The Asset didn’t like that. The Asset wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to feel fear. He hadn’t been programmed for that.

Breathing hard, the Asset stalked through the many halls, glaring at the multitudes of doors and, for the first time wondering, why was this place so  _ big?  _

He didn’t even know what was _ behind _ the majority of those doors. Some of them were chained shut – sometimes with plain chains, a few with barbed wire. A few doors had locks ranging from simple to the ornate, some doors were metal, some wood – and a few of those were battered or splintered into pieces.

One was frozen shut, iced over thickly and glowing from within.

He skirted past that one by a wide margin.

Other doors were wide open for him, the locks busted, scorch marks around the casing and reaching the opposite wall. He stalked through those, ice filling his veins, arcs of blue electricity edging across his vision, but there was no sign of anyone.

They had to be here somewhere.

The longer he searched, the angrier he became, his footfalls going from silent steps to hard, stomping things. His fists clenched, the whirring of his arm reaching his ears in the deadly silence around him.

The doors had stopped banging but there was  _ someone  _ here.

There was an odd sound, something… not a step… but rapid, not loud. What was it? He turned to follow the sound, head tilted to catch it. There it was again. It started slow, with heavy thuds, then quickened into softer tapping.

Thud.

Two long beats.

Thud.

A single long one.

Thud.

Half a beat.

Thud.

Pause.

Tap, tap, tap, tap tap, taptap, tappatapatapaaaaaaa –

Something small was coming across the floor right at him, hitting the Asset’s foot with a soft sound before rolling to a stop, his eyes tracking it the whole way.

It was another one of those green balls with the wavy line. He picked it up. It was sort of fuzzy, actually. But where had it come from? It hadn’t been in the hall just seconds before, he could have sworn. As he stared at the ball, turning it over in his hand, another sound reached his ears – and when he looked up, several more of the green balls were bouncing down the hallway at him.

Confused, the Asset backed off. It wasn’t a weapon. The balls couldn’t hurt him, just annoy him. And there was no enemy in sight. What was the purpose of the balls?

If he found whoever kept tossing them, he’d be sure to ask.

Maybe.

After he shot them first for daring to intrude in his sanctuary.

* * *

Clint had to stifle his chuckles at the perplexed expression on the Winter Soldier’s face, though one question was still puzzling Clint.

Why was the Winter Soldier wearing a cape?

And since when did he know how to play pipe organs? Steve was holding out on him, cause that was pretty fucking cool actually.

Still, time to motor. Clint pulled the grate back into place and backed down the vent. He’d given up trying to figure out  _ why  _ this place had vents large enough for a person to get around in - they were fucking  _ everywhere _ , actually – but considering he’d expected a hell of a lot more crazy when he got here, Clint was just gonna roll with it.

With the Winter Soldier now trying to dodge tennis balls, Clint thought he’d go back to the grand hall and that pipe organ. He’d always wanted to play a pipe organ. And it would have the added benefit of keeping the Winter Soldier busy while Nat was working on how to rescue Steve from his strangely lockless prison.

Seriously, how the hell had the Soldier gotten Steve into a room without any – ah, never mind. He’d expected crazy, so things not making sense actually  _ made _ a lot of sense. He paused, tilted his head to think about that and then shook it with a rueful grin and moved on.

Clint just hoped this plan worked.

The grand hall was empty when he got there and Clint grinned. He laid out a few booby traps, darted for the pipe organ and sat down gleefully before smashing his hands down on the keys like a toddler.

Sure, he knew how to play a keyboard, but that wasn’t the point right now. The point was to annoy Barnes or the Soldier or whoever he was right now into a merry chase that stayed well away from Steve and Nat.

Clint continued to pound on the keys without watching – he didn’t need to see where his fingers were landing just to make all the horrendous noise he could – keeping a careful eye on the surrounding area instead.

Therefore, he was surprised when the cacophony suddenly changed to strangled sounds. Startled, he looked up – and saw a horde of tennis balls, more than he’d sent after the Soldier, pouring over the organ in waves, falling into the pipes and bouncing off the walls and towards the floor.

Clint didn’t even have time to duck before several of them hit him on the head.

Like, ow. What the hell? No fair having his own annoyance tactics turned against him. Clint pouted, then shrugged. He’d done what he’d needed to do. The Soldier was probably already on his way to investigate the noise and run into all the traps Clint had left behind.

Time to plan the next thing.

Spotting a grate right near the top of the pipe organ, Clint shot his bow and quickly made his way up the rope, pushed the cover aside and crawled in. Pulling in the rope and closing the grate up behind him – no need to advertise which way he’d gone, right? – Clint started crawling as he thought of what else he could do.

He crawled for the length of the hall – the grate had been a dead end – and briefly paused at the junction before turning right. He crawled a little further before the vent widened, opening into a circular pit filled with…  _ blankets? _

Clint blinked.

What the hell?

His eyes darted around, noting several access points and – there! A flash of boots disappearing down one of those access points. Clint carefully lunged over the space, floundering in the literal mass of soft things before he managed to pull himself back out the other side of the pit and through the other vent.

Once inside, he pushed himself faster, thanking everything the vent was large enough his bow wasn’t getting stuck, and when he hit the corner, he turned it to see a man, dressed in the shreds of a blue uniform pushing his way down the vent as quickly as he could go, judging from the desperate look he sent when he glanced backward.

“ _ Barnes?” _ Clint asked. Okay, now  _ he  _ was confused. Were there  _ two  _ of them? Steve had mentioned someone else but this wasn’t what he’d expected.

Or maybe he should have, come to think of it. Oh shit.

Barnes hesitated, then came to some sort of decision. He stopped moving, his head hanging down for a second before maneuvering to turn in the narrow space and stare Clint down, though he got no closer. Fair enough, Clint thought. Barnes would have no reason to know him.

“You know me?” Barnes’s voice was harsh, rough, like it hadn’t been used in a long damn time.

“Well, I mean, yeah. Aside from you being in all the history books, I’m friends with Cap – I mean, Steve and Steve came here to help you. And when he didn’t come back, we came here to help Steve,” Clint said slowly. This was promising, right?

Barnes shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no, no – you shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous. He’ll get you.”

“What do you mean  _ he’ll  _ get you?” Clint asked, absolutely sure he wasn’t going to like the answer, even knowing it was going to confirm what he already suspected. “Aren’t you and  _ him _ the same person?”

Grimacing, Barnes shook his head again. “He’s not me. Will never be me. He’s the part  _ they _ made after they stripped me away and shoved me in here.”

Clint looked around with more understanding. “This… this whole place, this is your prison?”

“It wasn’t quite like this before. Now he’s here too,” Barnes spit out, shuddering. “Now it isn’t safe.”

“Er…” Clint wasn’t sure what to say. This was… actually kind of their fault, but then, they hadn’t exactly expected multiple versions of Barnes to be in existence at the same time. “Sorry?”

“What did you do?” Barnes growled, advancing suddenly on Clint and crowding him against the wall of the vent. Clint instinctively reared up and slammed his head on the ceiling.

“Ah, futz,” he said, rubbing at his head. He hadn’t expected that. He sighed. “Look, Steve came here to rescue you. We didn’t know… we thought…”

“This is your fault?” Barnes accused, eyes narrowing, unkempt hair falling into his face. That much, at least, was like the Soldier, though Barnes was more ragged physically.

Both their eyes were haunted though, or maybe that had been Barnes shining through the Winter Soldier from the get go which, yes, Clint had seen. Clint had studied all the footage they could find, looking for weak spots, for chinks in the armor. He’d gotten more than well acquainted with the current Winter Soldier. And when Steve had proposed this insane plan, Clint had backed it based on those eyes.

“Look, we can help you, okay? Make it right,” Clint said. Still staring into Barnes’s eyes, filled with a wild, terrified look that still – improbably – held hope, Clint lowered his voice. “I promise. We can break you free.”

Barnes stared back at him for a good, long moment, the nodded shakily, yet determined. “It’s not safe here,” he muttered, before squeezing past Clint.

He led Clint back toward the pit of blankets Clint had passed through and sunk into them, drawing several about him and looking more like a crazy hermit by the second. Clint thought almost hysterically of the formula for a fantasy book or movie or, even, a video game.

Creepy villain with organ music and dramatically flaring cape? Check. Gothic mansion with pointless rooms? Check. A hermit that comes along just in time to help you on the way? Check. Damsel in distress (he almost laughed out loud at the image of Steve in a dress)? Check. A daring rescue by a hero or group of heroes (complete with Robin Hood bow!)? Check. The (Techno) wizard with advice from on high? Check.

Of course, just drawing the parallel didn’t mean they were all going to get out of here alive and get their happy ending. Well, actually, alive wasn’t the  _ real  _ issue. The way things stood, the real worry was being in a permanent vegetative state.

Couldn’t do much Avenging like that.

Clint looked around the hermit’s sanctuary and noticed a few pictures taped up to the walls. He’d gone through way too fast the first time to have even noticed them. He blinked at them, some of the faces familiar. Steve, of course, was in most of the pictures, but a few others spotted the photos on the walls.

Trying to set Barnes more at ease, Clint pointed to a group photo. “So, who are they?”

Barnes startled, his gray blue eyes staring at Clint, then around at the pictures.

“I don’t remember,” he said softly, his voice almost getting lost, absorbed by all the cushions and blankets. It was a good thing Clint didn’t have to rely on his hearing aids right now.

Well now. That did beg the question. If Barnes was a separate entity from the Winter Soldier, shouldn’t he remember more? And if not, what  _ did  _ he remember? Well, only one way to find out.

* * *

Bucky stared at the stranger with the bow. First the other blonde, the one that featured most often in the bits of memories he’d dragged up, and then this one. What he didn’t understand was  _ how  _ they got here. Or why. Didn’t they understand how much  _ danger  _ they were in? On the Asset’s home ground?

His home ground too, once upon a time, before HYDRA had torn it up and reshaped it into their vision.

The stranger looked around, poking into this and that and Bucky flinched, curling up further into the blankets he’d wrapped around himself. How would this fella even be able to help? The Asset had all the advantage here.

He said as much.

The stranger shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think he does. I mean, you’re not wrong – he sure has a hell of an advantage over me and Steve and Nat. We’re the interlopers. The only thing we got going for us is confusion and surprise but… this place? It’s you. It’s yours. You have just as much power here – we just gotta figure out how you can access it.”

It was a pretty speech but Bucky wasn’t convinced.

“Now,” the stranger settled down in front of Bucky. “Tell me what’s in here, exactly.”

Bucky shook his head and shrugged. “Rooms?”

“Yeah, I saw that. Hallways and hallways of rooms. And vents that run along each hall – but there’s no access to any of the rooms. What’s inside them?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.” Bucky’s stomach twisted horribly.

“Some of the doors are open – violently so. A lot of them have locks…” the stranger got a glint in his eyes. “What say we go take a look.”

“No!” Bucky surged up, the blankets falling away from him. He skittered back, like the stranger was going to suddenly attack him. The stranger, instead, visibly startled and stared at Bucky with an open mouth.

They stared at each other. The stranger blinking while Bucky trembled.

“Why?” the stranger asked, his voice gentle.

“I… I…” Bucky shook his head, breathing hard, hands wringing, head ringing. “Something bad… I think…”

“Have you tried before?”

Nodding jerkily, resignedly, Bucky said, “Let me show you.”

* * *

Clint followed Barnes as he led Clint nervously through the gothic mansion’s system of tunnels and air vents, all connecting in a way that would make M.C. Escher proud. They came to a grate overlooking one of the halls – undistinguishable in any way from the others until you noticed the doors - and Barnes pointed down.

Peering through the grate, Clint saw one of the rooms had blasted outward, splinters of wood scattering the hall floor, the remains of a red painted door.

“You went into that room?”

Barnes nodded. Clint found himself nodding along. “Okay. Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”

He pushed aside the grating and dropped down silently into the hall. There was no sign of the Soldier and Clint thought guiltily of Nat and Steve down below and the distraction he was supposed to have been providing. But he was on to something here. A distraction might turn out unnecessary.

Creeping forward carefully, bow ready, Clint eased himself through the wreckage of the door.

On the other side wasn’t a room. Or, well, it was. But… it was filled with strange light and shadows, movement, people, whispers of sound, feelings that were not his own. Then the fog cleared and the room whited out, too bright, too sharp. Sounds barraged him from all sides – voices, machines, and most horribly, screaming. The room was cold and then pain bit through Clint’s left arm – a pain so immense that Clint dropped his bow with an all too loud clatter.

He blinked and he was back in the hall, huddled against the far wall directly opposite the door and clutching at his arm with Barnes crouched in front of him, eyes filled with concern. He held Clint’s bow in his hands.

“See? Bad things,” Barnes whispered. His eyes darted about the hallway, as if expecting an attack at any second.

“Memories,” Clint gasped out, eyes wide. “That was a memory. Of when you – when he – lost his arm.  _ All  _ these rooms are  _ memories. _ ”

“What else did you expect, Legolas?” Tony’s voice chimed in and Barnes startled, jerking back from Clint and whirling about the hall wildly, the bow raising in trembling arms. He didn’t have an arrow, but in this place, if Barnes thought of it (or didn’t think of it, who knew how that worked?) that wouldn’t be much of a deterrent. “You’re literally  _ in his mind _ .”

* * *

“Honestly, I feel a little dumb right now,” the voice kept talking and Bucky couldn’t  _ find  _ it. “It makes complete and total sense. The brainwashing? The mindwiping? The programming? It had to splinter him, his self, his memories. They had to go somewhere. I’m surprised there aren’t more versions of him running around in there.”

Wait, what was it saying?

“I’m  _ not him _ .”

“I’m afraid you are,” the voice said.

“Tony!” the blond stranger hissed.

“What? It’s the truth. We don’t have time to pussyfoot around the issue. Steve most  _ notably  _ does not. I can still get you and Nat out, but Steve’s, well, he’s stuck.”

Bucky gulped. “Steve?”

“Yeah, Steve. Y’know, the guy you grew up with? Who saved your ass and then you tried to kill?”

Bucky stumbled. “I – what? No! That, that wasn’t me!”

“Sorry, terminator,” Tony said. He didn’t sound very sorry. “Your body. Your hands. And I think I know what you need to do.”

_ Now  _ he sounded sorry and Bucky swallowed. That didn’t bode well at all, did it? He looked at Legolas who was looking both perplexed and concerned.

“What’s that, Tony?” he asked cautiously.

“The rooms are the key. The memories. HYDRA stripped Barnes of his memories again and again and again. He needs them back. They’re all  _ right there. _ So take them.”

“No, no, no, no, no –“ Bucky shook his head, backing away. “Bad things…” he whispered.

Legolas reached for him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re gonna help, okay? I know there’s bad things in there, but, you need to find yourself, reclaim what they took from you. I think Tony’s right. I think it’s the only way.”

Bucky turned and ran.

* * *

“Well, fuck.” Clint scratched his head. “ _ And  _ he took my bow!”

“So think up another. You’re in a mindscape, Clint. Take advantage of it,” Tony pointed out. Clint closed his eyes and thought hard, and soon a reassuring weight was in his hands. “Great. Now go after him. He’s your best chance of all of you getting out of there in one piece.  You  _ have _ to get him into those rooms.”

“Any of them, in any order, oh wise one? Or is there one in particular he needs to see?”

“Hell if I know,” Tony mumbled. “You find Barnes, I’ll… work on it.”

“How are Nat and Steve doing?”

“Peachy. The Soldier went down to pace in front of Steve’s cell. Nat hid in the vents. Steve’s trying to coax him into talking but…”

“But they’re two separate people, two sets of memories – well, whatever HYDRA left them with, anyway,” Clint said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Steve’s not going to reach Bucky, because that  _ isn’t  _ Bucky. Or… Maybe… we have to get them  _ both  _ into the rooms? I mean, I’m no shrink, but it can’t be good to be… split into two people.”

There was silence. “I think you’re on to something.”

Clint blinked, hand falling away from his face. “Huh? Say again?” He hadn’t heard that right. Tony saying  _ he  _ was on to something?

“Both of them. They need to reintegrate, or he might always be… broken.”

“He’s not going to go for it,” Clint pointed out. He didn’t have a lot to go on, to be fair, but Barnes’s reactions had been pretty severe whenever he was being compared with the Soldier.

“Then you might as well go back to plan C, which hinges all on distracting him enough to loosen his hold on the mindscape to let Steve out of his cage,” Tony snapped. There was another, brief silence. “And hell, even if we do manage plan C, you know Steve won’t just leave.”

“Fuck,” Clint said, banging his head back against the wall. “You’re right.”

“Look, this might be his and our only chance. The longer he spends in here like this, the more splintered they’ll both become. Who knows if we can get back in? If there’ll be enough mindscape left for us to even…”

Letting out a breath, Clint nodded. “Okay, but Tony, there are a  _ lot  _ of rooms here. I might be able to trick both of them into going into one, maybe even two, but not  _ all  _ of them. Before I can even… we need to know which one.”

Another pause.

“Nat’s on it,” Tony said.

* * *

The Asset paced in front of the cell he’d placed the familiar blonde stranger in. It seemed likely that the other intruders were here for the first, so here the Asset would wait. Maybe he should have waited here to begin with.

“-and that time when you rescued me from Mr. Henshaw’s dog, remember that, Buck?”

But my god, the man was annoying. He never shut up. More and more, the Asset was tempted to snap at him. To open the cell and beat him till he shut up. But he had no orders. No path. No mission.

He always had a mission. Where was his mission?

It grated, unnerved him. Shouldn’t someone have contacted him by now? Where were his handlers?

What if…

What if this man had killed them all?

Would that mean he was free?

He shuddered at the foreign concept, overwhelmed by it and skittered past it.

What if the Asset had been left to his own devices and it was up to  _ him _ to find out why the man was here and who he was?

What if this was a test?

He hadn’t been tested in a good, long time. Had he done something to make them doubt him? he froze, and whirled, stalking over to the cell and peering through the little barred window. It doubled in size as he approached, letting him see the prisoner more clearly and he blinked, then shook off the incongruency.

“Who are you?” he growled.

“It’s me, Steve,” Steve (apparently) said. “Don’t you remember?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving you, Buck,” Steve said sadly. Gently. The Asset’s ears had to strain to hear him.

“I don’t need saving,” he said automatically. The firmness of his tone held a kernel of wobbling. He stopped breathing, eyes going wide. He wanted to dart them around the room, but to show any outward signs – it was to fail, to bring down the wrath of his handlers.

He stepped forward, almost nose to nose with Steve through the bars. “Who are the others, and where are they?” the Asset asked.

“I don’t know where they are,” Steve said with a shrug. “Maybe you should go find them, find out what they’re up to.”

The Asset’s hands clenched into fists. “Maybe I will,” he snarled, before turning on his heel and stomping away. His cloak flared out in a very satisfying manner.

That.

That wasn’t right.

The cloak, the emotions, the organ, the playing.

All of it was wrong. He’d skimmed over it before, but something was amiss, more than the strangers that had invaded his space.

_ His  _ space? He didn’t have space, or privacy. Wants, or needs. There was nothing that was his. So why would he think that? Was he malfunctioning? Had he been infected with some sort of virus from these strangers?

But no, the Asset didn’t get sick, his handlers had made sure of that. He was positive that was something he remembered.

Damaged, then. He’d occasionally been damaged and required maintenance. But those who did that weren’t here. Why had he been left all alone? He was never left alone except for some missions or when he was frozen.

Was he on a mission and he’d forgotten? But how?

Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward again, determined to get to the bottom of this.

* * *

Clint found Barnes holed back up in his blanket pit in the vents, curled around himself, shaking. Plopping down next to him, Clint let himself be a silent presence. He wasn’t going to rush this. it would take time for Tony and Nat to find the right room – if such a thing even existed.

“I’m not him,” Barnes whispered. “I can’t be him. He’s done all those things, all those awful,  _ awful  _ things.”

Unable to help himself, Clint reached out to touch Barnes’s head, lightly scratching through his hair. Barnes froze, then whined at the contact and pushed his head into it.

“I know,” Clint said.

“You can’t know!”

“I wish I didn’t,” Clint said. “Look, man, being brainwashed into doing shit you’d rather not have done? I’ve been there.”

Barnes peeked out from where he’d hidden his face in the blankets, forcing Clint’s hand to shift away, though he made sure to keep touching Barnes. When was the last time the guy had gotten any sort of touch that hadn’t been violence?

“Really?” Barnes asked, dubiousness coloring his tone and every inch of his face.

Clint sighed. “I don’t like to talk about it but… yeah.” Stealing himself, because they’d only get one chance at this, if Tony was right, he went on. “It was a drop of water in a bucket compared to how long you’ve been under, but I did a lot of damage in that time. The worst of it was… I didn’t fight it. Couldn’t fight it, but  _ you did _ .”

Barnes hadn’t punched him or pushed him off or run away so Clint took that as a good sign. “I told you, Steve’s been looking for you, for his best friend. We’ve been hunting down HYDRA, learning things and… the Winter Soldier is you and you are him. The things he’s been made to do, the pain he suffers… Barnes, you’ve splintered apart. I can’t help but think that was his way of protecting  _ you _ , his core. But now the both of you are stuck here. You have to remember, you both do. Remember and accept.”

“But HYDRA – I won’t be him, I won’t be their weapon anymore,” Barnes whispered.

“We’re not going to let them, okay?” Clint said fiercely. “Anyway, you’re not  _ with _ them. You’re in Avengers Tower, right now, safe and - if we can pull this off - sound too. And sure, it’s gonna be a long road, recovering who you are. What we do here? It’s only a first step, a scary one – I’ve been there - but you won’t be going it alone. You’ll have Steve by your side, your best friend, your brother the way he tells it.”

“Stevie,” Bucky breathed, closing his eyes and inching a little closer to Clint. “Stubborn punk never knew when to give up on a lost cause.”

“You’re not a lost cause, Barnes,” Clint insisted.

Barnes’s hand shot out and grasped at Clint, his fingers winding up clutching a pants leg. “What about… what about you?” Barnes asked suddenly.

Clint blinked in surprise. “Well, I mean, sure, if you want me. I guess we do have some life experiences in common, just like you and Cap do. Just, different ones. It can only help, I s’pose.”

* * *

Bucky relaxed into Legolas’s touch, the scrape of fingers through his hair soothing. It almost sparked a memory, when his hair was shorter, when he was younger, more sure of himself and not the shadow of a person he was now. But the memory fled away again, like they usually did.

“Oh!” Legolas exclaimed, wonder tinging his voice. “Did you see that?”

Pushing himself up, Bucky looked around, brow furrowing. “See what?” Had the Asset finally found his sanctuary? But no, Legolas wasn’t afraid or preparing for a fight.

Legolas reached back, over his head, stretching out till he was tipped sideways on the blankets till his fingers skimmed the wall, gently plucking a photo from it. He sat back up and held it out before them. The picture was of a kitchen, a woman beheld from the point of view of a small child, or maybe someone sitting down? She was looking down, smiling gently, her hand disappearing off the edge of the photo, off the top edge, and Bucky felt phantom fingers carding through his hair.

“Oh…” he said softly. It was the memory that had eluded him, had teased him.

“Who is she?”

“I think… I think she’s my ma,” Bucky said, tears gathering in his eyes.

“You lost a lot, Barnes. It’s not only bad memories behind those doors. We just… have to find the right ones,” Legolas said.

“How do we do that?” Bucky asked, taking the picture with trembling fingers.

“Don’t worry, Nat’s on the job,” Legolas grinned smugly.

“Who’s Nat?”

Before Legolas could answer, that strange voice – Tony – spoke from nowhere again. At least this time Bucky didn’t jump.

“We found it. The one we think you’re going to need. Now we just need to lure the other half there, if Barnes is on board with the plan,” Tony’s floating voice said.

Bucky looked up as the silence pressed down, Legolas looking at him, not pushing and he took a breath. If he did this, he wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore, right? He nodded and watched a brilliant golden smile break over Legolas’s face, lighting up the little sanctuary he’d made, impossibly so.

“You got this, Barnes,” Legolas said.

* * *

Clint sure as fuck hoped this was going to work. Nat and Steve had collaborated to find the right memory, using Tony as intermediary. She’d picked locks and gotten a flavor from each room and finally, finally they’d settled on one.

Honestly, Clint would have thought it would take longer - but who knew how long they’d really been in there anyway - or that more memories would be necessary, but Tony had consulted with someone on the outside and had said that what they needed was a lynchpin.

Something that would break all the rest free.

“Steve says the Soldier left the cells a while ago, who knows where he is now,” Tony said. “Nat’s trying to flush him out. Katniss, you stay with Barnes.”

“Got it,” Clint said, saluting the air.

“Katniss?” Barnes was looking at him funny.

“Yeah?”

“I thought… he called you Legolas?”

“What? Oh! Tony just thinks he’s funny. ‘Cause I’m an archer,” Clint lifted the bow, as if Barnes had missed it the first time around – “He’ll call me the names of famous archers, both fictional and not. Mostly Fictional. My name’s actually Clint – I didn’t say?”

Barnes shook his head so Clint stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet ya, Barnes. Wish it was under better circumstances,” he said.

“Bucky,” Barnes said softly. “Please? I need – “ He broke off and he stared at Clint a little brokenly. Clint’s heart went out to him and he knew he was lost. He knew he’d be right there with Steve trying to help Bucky find his way back once they woke him up.

“Yeah, of course, whatever you're comfortable with,” Clint smiled at him encouragingly. “I didn’t want to presume.”

“Heads up, chatterboxes! Nat found him and the Soldier is on the move. They’re heading your way.”

Bucky stiffened and his eyes went wild. Clint grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, just stick to the plan.” Bucky nodded and Clint stepped back.

* * *

The Asset chased the redhead through the halls, her tinkling laughter goading him on. She slipped through his grasp, so tantalizingly close, again and again. Each time in some ridiculous manner.

Butterflies and bubbles obscuring his vision so his lunge was made blindly.

A web, as strong as a net, strung out across the hallway where there’d been nothing when she’d passed through the same space.

Yapping dogs of various sizes barreling past her towards him, tripping him as he ran.

Flowers springing from the muzzle of his gun.

His cloak snatched and tangled in the brambles of a thorn bush.

A tornado –  _ a freaking tornado! _ – that tore through the hall directly between them. It didn’t touch either of them but the edges of the twist of wind pushed them away from each other.

Step after step, obstacle after obstacle, the redhead stayed just out of the Asset’s grasp and his anger and frustration grew. Then she rounded a corner and he skidded around it behind her (Ice. The floor had turned to ice. How.) to find  _ him _ in the hall.

The hermit.

Everything froze.

The Asset, no longer attempting to control his slide, slammed into the wall and that jarred him from his surprise. The hermit, that strangely familiar being that unsettled the Asset right down to his core, was standing there, not running.

The redhead had gone past him, joining another blonde – at first the Asset thought his prisoner had escaped, till he noted the bow, the clothes, and other minute differences.

He stood there, vaguely aware of the other two, gaze focused solely on the hermit that had been skulking about this mansion since before the Asset could remember. The itch, the urge, to get his hands on the hermit was as strong as ever and he pushed off the wall and stalked forward, each stride picking up in speed till he was barreling down at the other. The other had started to back away, had turned towards a door –

Oh no… not again…

He wasn’t letting that hermit get away from him again –

The Asset  _ needed - _

_ \- needed – _

The Asset –

He needed to –

He –

Who was he? The question rang loudly in his head like a bell, and the Asset suddenly wasn’t sure if he meant himself or the hermit…

But the hermit had answers –

_ Must  _ have answers -

The Asset picked up speed, intent on reaching the hermit before he passed the threshold of the door. He lunged forward, flinging out his arm to grasp, fingers grazing against the collar, desperate to grab the hermit before the door slammed shut in his face, fingers clasping down on the blue collar, yanking back –

And he was shoved forward, straight through the doorway, the door staying open for once as he and the hermit went tumbling in a tangle of limbs, rolling across the floor.

He leapt to his feet and scrambled back, breathing hard, looking around wildly, the room fogged and cold, too cold, too cold, too cold –

He shivered and backed away, his back fetching against something and the fog lifted and memory poured through him, filled with pain, despair and desperation.

He looked at the hermit and for the first time, the Asset saw himself. The tattered remnants of the uniform he once wore proudly, the long hair that he’d never had till HYDRA had captured him, the gray blue eyes that stared into his soul knowingly, sadly.

The Asset had seen that face in the mirror a thousand different ways and stages, had seen it in photographs, and reflections off glass and water and eyes. He’d seen it younger, when it’d been world weary but still hopeful, still fighting.

It was then, as the other him approached him, as he scrambled back – yearning to reach out and suddenly afraid to – that he remembered the moment of the schism, the purposeful breaking of his soul, his mind, to protect his core, the self, before it could be broken and tarnished further.

To save a piece of him so that if the Asset ever died, only part of him had to go to Hell.

The other him –  _ James Buchannan Barnes, Bucky _ – reached for him, his hands trembling as they finally touched the Asset’s, hesitating before grasping the metal arm, that had killed and hurt so many – then took the Asset into his arms, curled around him and whispered –

“Thank you.”

Everything went black.

* * *

Bucky blinked his eyes open to the sounds of beeping, to white walls and he jerked, heart pounding, till someone crossed into view –

“Stevie?” he said, his voice hoarse, rough, his whole body relaxing at the sight of his best friend, seeing him alive and well and uninjured.

“Easy, easy, do you remember who you are?” Steve asked.

“I… I’m Bucky,” Bucky said, stumbling over the words. He watched Steve’s shoulders slump in relief. “How long?” he asked, voice cracking.

“How long since… since what? Since the war? Since we found out you were alive? Since we found you and brought you back home? Or how long we’ve been waiting for you to wake up?” Steve pulled a chair close and sat beside Bucky, grasping his hand in both of his. “I don’t know how much you remember, so I’m not sure which question you’re asking.”

Bucky thought about it, his thoughts still very fuzzy.

“T’be honest, not sure I ‘member much, so I don’t know either,” Bucky admitted. “But I do ‘member a… a bow, and… a promise?”

Steve broke into a smile.

“That was Clint. That’s good, Buck,” Steve said, the smile turning into a beam. “We weren’t sure – he’s just outside. You wanna see him?”

Tiredly, confused, unsure  _ why  _ he wanted to see this man he really only held an impression of, Bucky nodded. Instead of standing, Steve looked up. “JARVIS, could you let Clint know it’s okay to come in?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers,” a disembodied voice said and Bucky wasn’t sure, but a part of him was saying it was the  _ wrong  _ voice, the  _ wrong  _ name, if only he could remember…

The door opened and a tall blonde came inside and Bucky felt another part of him relax at Clint’s broad, open smile.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Clint had his hands shoved into his pants and he rocked carelessly on his heels as he stared at Bucky. “What’d I tell ya? I knew you could do it!”

A fuzzy memory wiggled free, of a solemn Clint, a nest of blankets and walls covered in photos as Clint told him something, something important, something that had resonated with Bucky. Clint stepped closer, finally, and Bucky reached out for him, hesitating when his eyes caught sight of the metal plates. His fingers curled inwards and he started to drop his arm to the bed –

And Clint caught it, no hesitation, no fear, no disgust, just caught it and held it gently, still beaming at Bucky, though there was a softness to it that Bucky couldn’t describe.

Tears filled his eyes, but they weren’t caused by torture and pain, not anymore. Instead, they held relief, hope, and the sense that… that things were going to get better now, however slow it happened. He was free from HYDRA’s grasp, at least physically. Who knew how long it’d take for him to be free of them mentally?

But at least he wasn’t alone anymore.

Behind them, the door remained opened, and a crowd had gathered outside. He could barely see them through his tears, but there was a flash of red as a woman reached for the knob, gave Bucky a slow nod and an encouraging smile, and gently closed the door.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 - i found this really hard to tag? If i missed something you think i should, let me know.
> 
> 2 - i started with the idea that this would be winterhawk but i realized that would distract from things. plus, by the time i got to the end of it, i was kinda rooting for ameriwinterhawk instead. but having a ship here didn't fit the narrative so if that's not your ship, you can totally ignore it :D
> 
> 3 - So the mindscape - i figure that Nat had as much control as she did right there at the end, because she's NAT and because the soldier was distracted. and he was countering those things but he wasn't aware that he was in his own MIND so that makes a difference.
> 
> [ Rebloggable Tumblr Post](https://pherryt.tumblr.com/post/190744574141/splintered-marvel-post-winter-soldier-rating-g)


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